What I’m doing…

I have had people lately wonder about my food so here’s the skinny…

I am attending a Bible study for weight loss and have been for about eight weeks now. It’s a good program and helped me realize I am made to crave, but not food, I should be craving God. The program and books helped some, but then on February 17th we had a chiropractor/food guru come talk to our group and it really struck a chord with me.

Think about how people used to eat 200 years ago…they didn’t have the processed, chemical laden products we do now. They were healthier, there were no such diseases as fibromyalgia, or IBS, or so much rampant cancers. Our genetics have not changed, but our food sure has.

So, I am now eating a diet with no corn, wheat, soy, sugar, or cows’ milk unless it’s fermented (sour cream, butter, cheese, and some clean yogurts). Corn, wheat, and soy are what we feed the animals we should be eating. Our bodies don’t process them. (As Dr. B said, they just visit…think about corn the day after you eat it….). These foods cause an inflammatory process in your body which leads to all the above stated problems.

Yes, it is more expensive (a little) and it does take thinking about it and planning what to eat, but the good outweighs those reasons when you think of QUALITY of life, medical bills, medicine, and just being able to be healthy.

Our diet plays a tremendous role in our health. We are so unhealthy, fat, and have so many diseases now a days that can be stopped if we eat like our great grandparents ate.

You can lose weight by eating this way just because you are eating food God intended…not chemicals that your body is confused about. It doesn’t mean eating as much as you like, but I am not counting calories and have lost three pounds since February 18th when I started eating this way.

That’s what I am doing, in case you wanted to know :-)!!



Let me share a little story that happened recently… Robert and I were at a restaurant grabbing dinner. We were sitting in a booth with some people behind us with a child. They were a little obnoxious and loud (not so much the child, the adults were) so it worked my nerves a little. I was hungry anyway and had my back to them so it made it worse (I’m just weird like that).

Anyway, they said let’s go about 20 times but still kept sitting talking loudly and a few cuss words started flying. Well, then this man and little boy came in and walked up to their table and said he had been looking for them that they had tried to call and text all of their phones and couldn’t get them. He stood there for ten minutes talking to them loudly and then the two kids started playing and wandering around the restaurant maybe ten feet from their table. They really weren’t misbehaving, just had gotten bored with the adult conversations. The guy that came in with the little boy called them over to where he was when they started getting a little louder and giggly. He then proceeded to tell the little boy to “get the f over here”….my heart stopped, my blood boiled, and my mouth ran….

I told Robert (and I realize this was not very Christian-like and I am sorry) “I am ready to get out of here, these rednecks are getting on my nerves.” I didn’t think I said it very loud, but later Robert told me I did. We got our check and left, I don’t think any of the people did hear me, or I’m sure they would have called me out on it and the situation would have ended up different than it did.

It just really made me mad, but it really wasn’t any of my business. I just pray for that little boy because I’m sure his life isn’t very good and that makes me sad. I am all for making kids behave but, I don’t believe cussing kids is disciplining them, that’s abuse, I’m sure the adults doing it grew up hearing that too, but why don’t they stop and think about how it made them feel as a child? Grrrrrr

Realistically, what would you have done in that situation?

End of an era

I was lying in bed the other night trying to shut my brain off and go to sleep, and it wandered, again, to the milestone birthday I have approaching. I waxed nostalgic of course, thinking back of this last decade of my life.

So many things have transpired that I never would have dreamed of while I was in my twenties. My thirtieth birthday saw me in college with an awesome little boy who was six days shy of turning three himself. I graduated nursing school the next year and passed boards, which was a miracle in itself.

After graduating I went to work as a nurse…I have been kicked, spit at, pinched, hugged, and screamed at. I have also cried with patients, cried for patients, wanted to slap patients (or their families), almost slapped a secretary, disimpacted people, stuck needles in people, stuck tubes into almost every orifice a human being has, saw more blood than a walking dead marathon, helped tons of babies and mamas learn to breast feed, saved a few lives, and watched a few die.

I learned things about myself I didn’t like, I watched a marriage die while a friendship remained. I swore off relationships only to be blindsided by the man who would eventually turn into the man of my dreams.

I stood by the bedside of one of the greatest men in my life, while he took his last breath, just like I had done 11 years before with another great man. I grieved like I never knew I would.

I have watched and still see, family face addictions that I wish I could stop them from having. I have gotten out of church and now back in. I have been bitter, angry, and mad at God, and He has never felt that way toward me.

Throughout this past decade, there have been many experiences, I can’t remember them all, and there are some I would like to forget. The biggest thing I have noticed though, is that life is short, people don’t always please you, and we grow through our pains. The woman sitting here today has become strong, independent, caring, but also I have my own opinions and I am not afraid of stating them. I think as women get into their thirties we kind of lose that inhibition of caring so much what others think. We become our own person. I love who I am today and thank God for my life!!

Slip away

Tomorrow marks the day that 13 years ago, I stood by the bedside of my papa as he embarked on his trip to Heaven. It was sad, and scary, and amazing. It felt very surreal as well… I remember the pain he had endured for those six months of battling non-Hodgkins lymphoma. This was a man who had never been to a doctor and pulled his own teeth when they bothered him, he was tough. To see him become so frail and withered, hurt.


He loved bluegrass music, tapping me on one shoulder while he was standing on the opposite side to make me look the other way, whistling like a bird, and making crazy squawking noises at me every time I saw him. He was not a man of many words and I don’t remember ever hearing him say I love you to me until a few months before he died. I know he did, he just wasn’t very good with words, I’m sure it had a lot to do with how he grew up. He got saved a few months before he passed, and that was what made the change in him, I believe.

The hurt isn’t as raw as it was at first, routines have changed with him being gone, and we have all adjusted. There will always be a missing part of our lives though, because his presence can never be replaced. He was a good husband, daddy, papa, and man. If you knew him, you liked him.

When he left us, there was such peace, I can’t even describe it. We all knew as we stood there around his hospital bed, when he took that last breath, he was seeing Jesus!! I can’t wait to see everything he’s been seeing now for 13 years, and I can’t wait to see him again too! Miss you Papa Marsh, see you soon…


My son the writer?

I am just so so so amazed at my sons’ writing skills at 12 years old!! Last week I gave him a prompt to write about a boy and his three best memories…this is his story (typos and all, I do count off on those when I grade, but you can still get the gist of it).


My name is Lemont Weere, or, as my friends call me, Lemonwire. Well, I assume the people that called me that were my friends. I don’t remember much, because, frankly… There isn’t much. Everything is just, sort of, gone. No people, no buildings, no rubble… Just me. And some sheep. I don’t know why sheep are still alive.

I woke up one day in the only “building” I’ve encountered. I only knew my name, and basic motor skills, along with some faint memories. Three, in fact.

I stumbled towards the door, wondering where I was and why I was alone. I opened it slowly, and stepped outside on to a cliff. It was beautiful. Small black pieces of what I later found out was ash slowly drifted downwards like snow, gently covering the hills and valleys below with a soft black blanket.

As I was alone, and it didn’t seem like I had anything to do, I sat down on that cliff, letting my legs dangle, and watched the ashes drift for hours. Eventually, it got to dark to see them, so I returned to the tiny wooden house I had awoken in. I laid down on a small cot in the back room, and tried my hardest to sleep. But I couldn’t. I could, however, remember. I remembered the first of the memories I had.

It began with me and some other people walking into a…. park? Yes. A park. There were these large, metal contraptions with people in them, going around hoops and crashing down hills as crazy speeds. It was an amazing thing to watch. There were also smells. Oh, the smells were the best part. Sweets and salts and spices of the street vendors’ food drifted about the place, making everything smell like a five star restaurant.

I was then woken up because I couldn’t remember anything else from that memory. Just… Blank. Oh, and I suppose the fact that ash had began to seep through the cracks in the wood had something to do with it. I scrambled upwards out of and off of the cot, and rash out the door. It was black everywhere. I couldn’t see, breath, or small anything. I ran in the direction I knew was opposite from the cliff but not into the house. I just ran and kept on running. Eventually, I found a small cave like structure to hide in. I went inside, thinking it would be empty, but not quite. There was a book.

This book was thick and burned around the edges, with a cover and spine which were to damaged to read. However, I could make out the remnant letters H r P tt r, but I didn’t know what it could be. The insides were burned as well, so I used it as a pillow when I went to “sleep”. That night, my memory was less bright and happy. Still happy, mind you, but more in a relieving way. I was sitting alone in a chair in a small room, looking at the floor. Suddenly, a small woman came out of the door and told me, “She’ll be ok. We caught it before it could get too serious.” She said some other things, dates, I think, but I didn’t pay attention. I was giddy over the news.

This dream ended quickly, but not because the ashes had caught up with me, it just ran out. I grabbed the book and ran out of the cave. The ashes were spreading out towards my direction still, and I wanted to know why. I ran towards the ashes until I found it. The city. It was grand and beatiful, with gold buildings and people draped in silver and silk. But it was burning. The city was on fire, physically melting and crying out, but none of the people seemed to care. I set down my book and ran towards it, trying to save anyone I could. But they didn’t care. So many of them simply said there was nothing we could do about it, or that it didn’t matter. I asked them about their children and familys, but they just ignored me. It was hopeless. I hopelessly walked out of the city, grabbed my book and walked away. On my way out, I found a small pen with an eraser.

That night, after finding a relatively safe looking field, I had my final memory. I was on a beach, with the waves lapping at my feet very softly. Beside me way a girl. A very small girl…. A daughter, maybe? Yes, it had to be, because on the other side of her was a woman about my age in the dream. It was so peaceful. I looked back to the water, but then a bright flash on the horizon turned everything white, and I woke up. I saw the ash growing ever thicker, and so, I’m what I decided would be my final hours, I wrote this. The final memory of the end of the world.

Good morning!

In less than one month I am going to do something I said I wouldn’t do…I’m going to CELEBRATE turning 40. I am blessed to have made it this far and have all the things of life that I have, so I’m not going to be whiney and mope about it, I’m going to embrace it. It’s just a number and I certainly don’t feel, act or especially look (haha) it!!

I am also getting prepared to teach a seminar in a couple of weeks, just a small piece on heart disease, but I’m nervous. I enjoy teaching though and I’m excited about the opportunity.

In other news, my husband is looking for a job. He is working out a notice until about the end of the month. We had prayed about it a lot. It’s a good job, but he was gone from before sun up until way after sun down, and that wasn’t conducive to our family. It was less than 30 minutes after he called and turned in the notice and one of his friends from his old job called about the possibility of them hiring where he used to work doing what he used to do. That didn’t work out because it was still going to have to be night shift, but still it was like God’s way of telling us things were going to be ok. He’s got a couple of prospects lined up as well, but we are just taking our time. I’m thankful he got out of that mill and off night shift, so it was an answer to a prayer when it came along. He really did love delivering, but he loves being home with us in the evenings more.

I’m also thankful I have my job, while we can make it with just my income, we will be eating pinto beans every night, but that’s ok, we won’t starve. It all works out like it’s supposed to.

I also have started another blog that’s a kind of devotional/teaching one, if you are interested in seeing that one let me know and I will give you the address.

Have a blessed Sunday!!